Mouthful of Forevers
by DistantFantasies
Summary: HIATUS/BEING REWORKED 11/2018 - This is how we heal. I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I'm hope. Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book. [OCxOC Based Story]
1. Note

_A Note about_ _Mouthful of Forevers_

This is strictly a story **set** in the Mercyverse. That means that canon characters may appear, _but they aren't really the main focus in this story_. Basically, I'm using the frame work of the Mercyverse to weave a new tale, much like Briggs did with the Alpha  & Omega stories.

I hope that you will enjoy Marcus and Nadia's story, even if it doesn't focus on our dear friends in the main story lines.

 _-DF_


	2. 1: Nadia

_Nadia_

She had never believed in things that go bump in the night. Even when she had been a child, her father hadn't ever had to check under the bed for monsters because Nadia would tell him quite proudly that they weren't real. Monsters were things in storybooks, meant to scare little babies into being good.

It wasn't until she was an adult, with her own problems that she learned that monsters were indeed very real. It had started with the fae, coming out slowly after thousands of years of hiding. She had been surprised, but not repulsed by the idea of them. They were interesting and new, something Nadia had never considered before, and they had put a pin in her journalism career.

And then there were the werewolves, but not the romanticized version that she knew from books either, even if that was the image that they were trying to push. The wolves were very good at pretending to be sheep, disguising themselves as the heroes rather than the villain that so many were trying to paint them as.

She should have guessed that other creatures wouldn't be left to the books either.

Nadia stuffed her keys back into her coat, quickly shuffling into her car and shutting the door as the rain tapped its fingers on the roof. She reached to make sure that the locks were in place, although she knew that it would hardly stop what she was running from. Her Jeep Cherokee was that classic stationwagon look, a dark green with a wood panel running down the side. She loved it though, and it had enough room for her camp out in the back when she needed to.

She took a deep breath through her nose as she closed her eyes, rain still clinging to her hair. The dark curls were going to be even more unmanageable than usual thanks to the combination of wind and rain.

She reached across the seat towards the discarded newspaper, a picture of a man carrying a child boldly displayed on the front page. It was old, years old now, but she had been able to dig it up in the local library. The man, one David Christiansen, had lead a mission to retrieve some kids from a terrorist camp in South Africa. He was the first werewolf to come to the public eye and he was also, despite appearances, very dangerous.

In her mind, she ran over all the facts that she had found out about David. Special forces turned mercenary, turned somewhere in between. She didn't care about particulars, she just needed help and he seemed the one most likely to do the job.

Now all she needed was a phone.

Phones were actually quite dangerous in the grand scheme of things, which was why she didn't carry one anymore. She didn't need another way to be tracked, already having a difficult time staying out of _their_ view. She drove the Cherokee around the block, scanning the streets for a payphone. She didn't even know if they still were around, as pretty much everyone was reliant on cell phone service these days.

It took her some time, but on a not so fair side of town she finally found one connected to a gas station. Digging some change out of the cup holder, she darted out of the car and up to the awning that sheltered the sidewalk from the storm. Nadia glanced uncertainly around herself before pushing the mixture of quarters, dimes and nickels into the slot and picking up the receiver. She dug in her jean pocket for a scrap of paper with a phone number on it, the only number she had been able to dig up after a month of investigating. All she knew about David was from newspaper clippings, and what she'd been able to scrounge up online. Calling contacts from her old life had brought more questions rather than answers.

Questions like... _where are you? What happened?_ Questions that she knew that she couldn't answer, at least...not right now. She wasn't sure about the answers, and really didn't want to burst anyone else's safe bubble. She punched the numbers harder than she intended to, her heart pounding louder in her head as she listened to it ring once. Twice. _Three_ times. Her jaw clenched involuntarily as she heard a soft static that indicated that someone was listening.

Silence hung between them for a moment, as they both waited for the other to break the silence.

"David Christiansen?" Nadia finally ventured, her voice a squeak higher than she intended. She had wanted to seem cool and collected, businesslike.

"Yes, and you are?" The voice that replied was lighter than expected, and she strengthened her resolve.

"Nadia Allen." She said, hesitating again. "I saw you in the paper." She said, feeling hurried all of a sudden.

"And how can I help you, Nadia Allen?" Christiansen asked.

"Someone's chasing me." She murmured, dropping her voice. Her mother would have scolded her for mumbling, inaudible to most. Christiansen didn't miss a beat.

"Who?"

"I can't say." She admitted. "But I can't go to human police. I need...werewolf help." Nadia checked over her shoulder again, feeling the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Was someone watching her?

"Where are you, Ms. Allen?" He asked, his tone like glass, smooth but threatening to break with something more...tempered.

"Detroit." She answered, feeling a flutter of hope in her chest for the first time.

"I'm too far to be of help in Detroit." He said, sounding regrettable. Her heart sank for a moment, but then he began to speak again.

"I have a comrade in Detroit, someone who might be able to help you. Do you have a pen?"

And that was how she ended up circling Roseland Drive, searching the house numbers for the comrade of David Christiansen.


	3. 2: Marcus

_Marcus_

 _Help me._

The familiar voice sent a volt of electricity through him and causing him to bolt onto his feet, his wolf leaping to the forefront in defense. Every muscle tensed under this skin as he swept the room with his eyes, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up.

Everything in his home appeared in place, a scattering of his belongings amongst the furniture. He used his nose next, the house stale and musty with his scent. Only his scent. Marcus let out an exhausted breath as he pressed his hand to his forehead as if it could banish the headache that had formed there.

His other hand reached down for the glass of whiskey on the side table, gulping it down like a shot before slamming it back down. It shattered upon impact, his strength unrecognized, and he frowned. That was the third one this week. The wolf retreated, knowing that there was not an immediate danger.

A moment like this he would have reached to his pack for comfort, using the bonds that held them all together but there wasn't anyone to reach to anymore. It made him dangerously unstable, and the Marrok was practically breathing down his neck with worry. Lone wolves could be dangerous, and the circumstances surrounding his situation made him much more likely to be.

Marcus rummaged through the house, the whiskey still burning his throat until he found a trashcan and raked the broken glass into it. The shards broke the skin of his hand, but being a werewolf meant that he healed faster than most. So by the time he returned the trashcan to its rightful place, the cuts were healed to thin lines and by the time he opened the refrigerator they were gone completely.

If it hadn't been for the silence in the house, he might not have heard the most timid knock at the front door. He paused for a moment, then continued to reach into the fridge, rummaging around for the orange juice he was sure was in there somewhere. The person at the door knocked again, louder and more frantic this time, causing him to pause again. Who the hell was knocking on his door? He didn't have friends anymore, no family...no...pack. He clenched his jaw as he shut the fridge with his foot, and tossed the orange juice container up on the counter.

He grabbed a shirt off a dining room chair on his way to the door, not wanting to scar any potential girl scouts for life. The knocking started again as he tugged it on, a growl rumbling low in his throat. He would regret being mean later, probably mid drink, but right now he was too annoyed to care.

He yanked the door open just as another knock hit the door, coming face to face with a woman. She was young looking, probably late twenties, in a trench coat. Her hair was wet and matted against her head, and her eyes were the most interesting shade of green he'd ever seen. He narrowed his eyes, watching as her scent flooded with fear. He wasn't the most pleasant thing to look at, he knew, a rake of scars across his nose from right eye to the bottom left of his chin.

She held his eyes which told him that she wasn't familiar with werewolves, so he gave a little growl to prompt her. She jumped and lowered her eyes quickly, having realized her mistake. Dominance game aside, he held the door frame and shifted his weight to lean.

"Can I help you?" He asked, clearing his throat politely. He didn't have much intention to help her, really, but his mother had taught him to be polite to women in all circumstances. Recent experiences had marred that manner, but from what he could smell...she as human.

Trench coat shuffled, tucking some of her wet hair behind her ear and made a low sound that sounded a lot like a curse word. With her head down, she couldn't exactly see the touch of a smile on his lips.

"David Christiansen gave me your name. He said you could help me." She said, not sounding very confident about it, but he couldn't smell a lie in what she said. He narrowed his eyes again.

"Sorry, but he was wrong." He said, stepping back into the house, starting to push the door closed in her face. He was surprised when she fought back, grabbing the door and trying to hold it open. He could have really forced it closed if he had wanted, but he hesitated.

" _Please_." She said again, lifting her eyes to look him in the face, challenging him. His wolf jumped forward at the challenge, making his presence known by the amber-gold shade clouding his normally blue eyes. She shrank back for just a moment before holding her ground, amusing both of them this time. She looked quite frail, but she was a fighter. "I can't go to the police. I can't go to anyone but you…"

He listened to her swallow hard, and opened the door to her again. He crowded her as only a 6'1 werewolf can do, backing her up with just his presence until she was cornered against the wall of his porch. He set a hand against the wall, blocking her escape back out to the car perched on the side of his yard.

"Why not?" The wolf asked, using Marcus' voice for his own purpose. The smell of her fear had heightened, making him eager for a hunt.

"I can't tell you." She said, shrinking.

"Truth." He murmured, as Marcus took control and pushed the wolf back again. He took a step back and let out a deep breath, clenching his fists at his sides before working them out again. He smoothed a hand through his hair, before turning back towards the door. "Come inside. We'll talk and see if I can help. If Christiansen sent you to me, it must be important."

He waited, watching her debate internally on if she wanted his help or not. If she were smart, she'd run and take her chances elsewhere, but he watched as she gathered her resolve and hurried inside.

 _Well this is going to be interesting_. He thought, as he closed the door behind him.


	4. 3: Orange Juice

_Nadia_

This friend of David Christiansen was an asshole. If she weren't desperate, she probably would have taken her chances in trying to piss him off, but she needed his help. She glanced around the house as she stepped inside, finding it in a chaotic disarray. Things were piled everywhere from laundry to books to papers. It smelled like alcohol and musk, even to her human nose. What kind of person lived like this?

The man sidestepped her after closing the door, taking the step down into the den area. She could tell by his body language that he was paying attention to her, even if he was not looking directly at her. She was sort of grateful that he wasn't.

"Coming?" He asked, not bothering to look back as he walked away. She frowned, and folded her arms under against her coat as she reluctantly followed. The kitchen was not quite as messy as the den, but it was on its way there and was large enough for a Thanksgiving dinner party for twenty. Who needed a house this big? Did he live alone?

The wolf picked up a bottle of orange juice that had been set on the counter, pouring himself a glass and gulping it down before looking at her again. Was that glass dirty? Ew.

"Sit." He said dismissively, as if he were used to giving orders, opening a cabinet and taking down another glass. He poured it full of orange juice before sliding it across the counter to where he had indicated she sit. Nadia didn't move a muscle, instead clenching her jaw in annoyance. She had had enough of being bossed around to last a lifetime. She wasn't going to let him dictate to her, meeting his eyes. The brows over those eyes rose, as if to give her a questioning look.

"Miss…" He hesitated, and she realized he didn't know her name but she didn't know his either so she supposed that was fair. Christiansen had only given her the address. He seemed to realize the same, but his gaze never wavered. "Do you know _anything_ about werewolves?" He asked, his tone more relaxed than his posture.

She shuffled nervously, reaching out to hold on to the countertop for balance.

"Just the articles in the paper." She replied, all of sudden aware of his hinting and dropped her eyes. Damn it, she had forgotten again.

"It's interesting because even humans have some inkling of what we are even if they don't really know. Most drop their eyes without realizing it, but you keep meeting mine on purpose. You're either brave, or very... _very_ stupid." He made an amused sound, and she muttered a curse under her breath. "So let me warn you, that you do not want to play dominance games with a wolf, love."

"Don't call me that." She snapped, raising her eyes again. "I don't appreciate being belittled."

His eyes were the warm gold hue again, and he looked very interested in her all of a sudden. She averted her eyes down to the orange juice that he had offered, wrapping her hands around it. It wasn't coffee, but her body could use the sugar.

The silence hung heavy between them as she lifted the glass to sniff it's edge, just be sure it was actually clean. She sipped when she was satisfied, though the smell of orange juice could probably mask a dirty glass.

"Christiansen didn't give me your name. Just your address." Nadia said slowly, taking a stab at being civil.

"Marcus Devato." He hesitated, as if strangled. "Alpha of Detroit." His voice was much sadder than before, as though something had occurred to him. She wondered what it could have been, but he moved on before she could pry. "David didn't tell me I would be getting a visitor."

"Oh," She had thought perhaps he would have called his so called comrade. "I'm sorry?"

She reached up to tuck an unruly strand of hair away from her face, studying the marble pattern in the countertop.

"I'm Nadia." She began slowly, pushing her finger along one of the veins near her glass. "I'm from…well that doesn't matter." She didn't know the limits of what she could or couldn't say to him. She didn't trust him, but she supposed that didn't matter.

"You said that you can't go to the police." Marcus said slowly, putting the orange juice back in the fridge. Nadia nodded. "And you can't tell me why." She nodded again.

She found herself studying him, from his short dark hair to the scars across his face down to his broad shoulders clad in a form fitting shirt. She wondered if he had other scars, perhaps under the crumpled green tee or gray sweats. He cleared his throat politely, shifting her thoughts.

"It would be easier to protect you if I knew what was coming." He said. He must have been repeating himself because of the way he said it slowly. She made a face.

"I know. I'm sorry." She murmured, though she knew it was probably better if he didn't know. "I probably won't stay here long, but I thought that maybe...staying with a werewolf might be better than staying in a motel. You guys are stronger...uhm...less fragile." She made a motion with her hand, shrugging lightly as she pushed back from the counter.

She watched as he reached across the countertop to top off her juice before taking the jug back and putting it away in a stainless steel refrigerator. He seemed to be considering her request.

"I am not in the habit of extending sanctuary to humans." He said slowly, and she felt her spine stiffen. All of the unease that she had been shoving back seemed to flood forward, and she clenched her jaw to keep herself from begging. She did not beg. She took care of herself, just as she had done for the last two years.

"Thank you for your time, then, Mr. Devato." She said stiffly, pulling back from the counter. "I'll show myself out."

A hand caught her elbow as she turned away from him, taking all of three steps back towards the front door and tugging her to a stop. Her head whipped around to glare up at Marcus, her eyes glazed with unshed tears.

"I said that it is not my habit." Devato said, his face tightening. "Not that I would not."


	5. 4: Revelations

_A/N: Thanks for all the nice reviews and sorry it took me so long to get back. 3 Enjoy the chapter!_

 _Marcus_

The Marrok called as soon as he left her alone in one of the bedrooms. He had an uncanny way of knowing the most inopportune times to call, specifically when Marcus needed it most. The Alpha of the North American werewolves looked like anything but what he was. He looked like a young man, nothing terribly special about his pale skin and sandy hair. He looked like a college kid, muffling what he was so that he appeared as human as possible. Old bastard liked to take people by surprise. He had done just that when Marcus had been a pup, fresh out of the Change during Vietnam.

Vietnam had been the birthplace of a fair amount of American werewolves, including Christansen and the Tri-Cities alpha, Adam Hauptman - mate of Bran's adopted daughter, Mercedes.

"Bran." Marcus murmured, his voice smooth as glass. His relationship with Bran had been terse since...things had gone bad about a year ago. He did not want his help, didn't want anyone's help.

"This will be good for you." The Marrok said, his voice equally as smooth, and then...he hung up.

Marcus pulled the phone away from his ear to frown at the screen which blinked a :04 second call time and Marrok's number. The Marrok was squirrely, knowing things that he shouldn't know about - an uncanny gift from some long, boring back story that Marcus didn't want to think about just then. He tucked the phone into his back pocket, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed another drink.

Water cut on upstairs, his hearing good enough to carry down some of the soft humming and the sound of damp clothes hitting the floor. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard something so normal and mundane.

His wolf was pleased with their decision to protect the woman upstairs, as if he had scratched an itch that had been hard to get to. He would see her safely through the next 48 hours or so, then find someone better suited to a protection detail for a human dealing with monsters. She was on a dangerous ledge with him, taunting his wolf with her fear (albeit masked well) and insisting upon meeting his eyes. When he had been more in control, such little things would not have bothered him as much...but lately...it was practically a death wish.

Releasing the bridge of his nose, he moved towards his study - and reached under his desk for his emergency stash of hard liquor, taking a swig straight from the bottle. He was lucky that alcohol didn't affect werewolves like it could humans, otherwise he might have been dead from liver failure. His father had been a drunk, and Marcus had sworn off the stuff at fifteen...but things changed.

He kept one ear open as he replaced his secret stash under the desk, sitting down to boot up the old dinosaur of a computer that sat dead center on his desk. Marley had bugged him for years to get with the program when it came to technology, but she had only gotten as far as upgrading his cell phone (still two generations behind) before….

The wolf let out an irritated growl, drawing his attention away from the memories and to the sound of harsh wheezing just under the running water. He was bolting up the stairs, taking them three at a time before he realized it and throwing the bathroom door open before he even registered it.

His home was older, which meant the bathroom had been an addition to the bedroom and was relatively small. The shower curtain was tucked into the old iron clawfoot tub, a bold floral pattern that had been the choice of someone else. The wheezing was louder and Marcus all but ripped the shower curtain down in his haste.

Nadia was huddled in the bottom of the tub, the shower still spraying in her face as she gasped and wheezed. She looked absolutely terrified as she looked up at him, his head snapping up to look around the room for danger, before reaching down to lift her out and set her down on the rug just in front of the tub.

"What happened?" He asked, reaching for her face. She shrank back, shaking violently, and he pulled back too. He took stock of her, accustomed to naked people, something one became accustomed to very quickly when you were a werewolf, but found that she had no physical wounds. He reached up to snatch a towel hanging on the wall, drawing it around her shoulders. His medical training came flooding back, although it was years out of practice at this rate, and he guided her carefully to put her head down toward her knees.

"Breathe, kitten." He murmured, placing a hand on her back and rubbing gently. "Listen to me, now." His voice was calm and even, as he reached down for his alpha voice. "Take a deep breath and hold it for me, okay?" He waited until she had done so. "That's it...five, four...three, two...one…now let it go."

He shifted his body, leaning on his hip and one palm. "Another." He said, once she had taken a few more shaking breaths. The wheezing was lessening, and he sat with her until it had passed. He made her repeat the exercise several time, until she was sitting up with her elbows propped on her knees. He reached out, to brush back the wet strands of hair that covered her face. She was pale, her lips white as ash.

"Nadia?" He rumbled, pulling his authority from somewhere. She was not pack, not even a wolf, but even humans knew when to listen. He let her meet his eyes, which she quickly dropped again. "Are you alright?"

She gave a faint nod of her head, starting to shake herself out of whatever it was that had brought this on. He watched as she adjusted the towel draped over her back, pulling it closer.

"Sorry." She muttered, licking her lips. He pulled back, giving her some space to breathe because he was painfully aware of his wolf, who was close to the surface. He was angry and confused, which made him more angry. He wanted to know what had happened, who had hurt that which was his to protect? The wolf didn't grasp concepts like panic attacks.

"It's okay." He said, quietly. She wouldn't know that he had just lied. It wasn't okay. He shifted his weight, sitting fully on his ass and stretching out a leg. "You're good now, right?" He didn't plan to budge until he was sure.

"Yeah." She lied, but he would let it slide. "Fuck." The curse was soft, almost inaudible, but full of venom. He narrowed his eyes, but let the silence hang between them for a while. "I'm naked. And what smells like wet dog?" She said, hesitating and blushing as if she were suddenly aware. Something that might have been a smile quirked the edge of his lips and Marcus rolled to his feet. He was soaking wet from the shower, which was still running next to them. In a fluid movement, he reached in to turn off the running water and reach down to offer her a hand.

He could sense the wariness that made her hesitate.

"I could close my eyes, but I did just pull you out of the shower _and_ put that towel on you." An eyebrow rose over his left eye as he kept his hand out. After a moment, she took the hand he offered and he helped pull her to her feet.

Marcus gave the door frame a passing glance as he guided her back out of the bathroom, wincing at the damage. Viktor would have killed him, the frame splintered where he had knocked the antique door right out of it's hinges. He had been the real mastermind behind the whole house. His second. The pain of loss twinged at his heart, something he would have hidden from the pack if there was anyone to hide it from.

Nadia had readjusted the towel as they left the bathroom, wrapping it under her arms and pushing her wet hair away from her face again.

Marcus cringed again as he spotted the bedroom door in similar shape as the bathroom door, except he had split the door down the middle from impact. He'd have to move Nadia to another room, perhaps closer to his own.

She wiggled out from under his guiding hand, which he had placed at the small of her back, and turned around to face him. He stiffened.

"Thanks." She said, meeting his eyes briefly and sounding more sheepish than before. "I'll just...uhm...put clothes back on."

He nodded, knowing a subtle cue to go when he heard one. He waited until he had passed through the broken door, going to draw it shut out of habit, but it wouldn't close much to his dismay. Ultimately he left it almost closed, before going back downstairs, his mind swarming with a new revelation, his wolf chomping at the bit in a bid for control.

Nadia's shoulders had been covered in bite marks.


	6. 5: Mosquitoes

_Nadia_

She stayed on her feet until the werewolf was gone, the door slightly ajar. When she was alone, she let herself sink back down to the floor beside the bed and pressing a hand to her forehead which was clammy and cold. Holy hell.

The attack had come on without warning, one minute she had been scrubbing her skin under the warm shower and the next she was on the rug outside of the tub with the werewolf hovering. He had called it a panic attack, but it had been something more - a nasty little perk of her pursuer. The _vampire_.

Her throat was painfully dry, her tongue like a weight in her mouth, and she held the towel closed around her body. She had thought that being out of the state would have helped reduce the connection he had with her, but it seemed that it didn't matter how far she ran - he could reach her. As she closed her eyes, she could hear the sound of his maniacal laughter and it forced her to her feet. It wouldn't help to dwell on it.

She made quick work of changing, her duffle bag laying across the length of the bed. Marcus had insisted on helping her bring up her things, and parking her Jeep around the back so it was not visible from the street. She tugged on a clean pair of undies and jeans, along with an unmatched black bra and a navy tee that loudly proclaimed the tour dates of some band that she'd never heard of.

When she had left the house, she hadn't had time to take much of anything...besides the keys to the vampire's car. She had dumped it quickly, and 'borrowed' the Jeep because it had been an easy target. She had been afraid that the vampires could track her down in the black BMW, but she might have taken her chances if she had known that they could mess with her mind. Clothes had been harder to come by, and she had scribbled the name of the donation center that she needed to go back to and donate some clothes.

She ran her fingers through her damp hair, tugging it up and pulling the elastic hair tie off her wrist to tangle the hair into a messy bun that bobbled slightly when she walked. Socks and a pair of tennis shoes that had seen better days went on next, and she tugged at the shirt in the mirror before glancing at the door.

Devato was going to have questions.

Questions she could not...or would not answer, so she had to think of something else.

When she came down the stairs, she could smell something burning in the kitchen. She had noticed earlier that the house was unkempt, a spattering of random items tossed amongst the sparse furniture. It looked like pieces were missing, and had not been replaced. As she poked her head into the kitchen, she could hear the muttering of curses followed by the sound of a spatula scraping the bottom of frying pan.

There was a plate on the counter, with two dark golden brown pancakes cooling on it. He was raking a third, blackened disc meant to be a pancake into the trash. He set the pan back on the eye of the stove, which was too hot, and picked up a glass measuring cup that held the unused batter.

"Are you going to keep silently judging my pancake skills?" He said suddenly, startling her as she realized she'd been staring openly for a long time. Wolves had good hearing, or so she had heard.

"The pan is too hot." She murmured, taking a few more steps into the kitchen. He had changed clothes, though it seemed like he had forgone the shirt this time. He humphed, and reached up to turn down the heat, but it was a bit too late to save that pancake.

He pointed the spatula at the meager pile on the counter top. "Those are for you." He told her. "Syrup in the fridge, got maple and blueberry...I think. Butter too."

"Butter syrup?" She asked, knowing what he'd meant. He gave her an amused look, the scar on his face moving as he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips ever so slightly.

"You know what I meant." He rolled his eyes as he turned back to scrape out the failed pancake. Nadia had to get close to him in order to pick up the plate, another nestled under it for his share. She chanced a glance at him, but he was intently focused on his pancake making. She put the plate on the island that he had given her orange juice earlier, the shiny marble reflecting the light like it hadn't before. She noticed the sound of the dishwasher then too, the smell of lemon industrial cleaner. He'd started cleaning up, apparently.

She looked at the various drawers in the kitchen, trying to decipher which one might hold the silverware.

"Here," Marcus said, as if reading her mind, tapping the cabinet drawer to his right. It was over the trashcan he had put half the food in. Everything felt normal, except she barely knew this guy. Something about him put her at ease, despite what had happened upstairs less than half an hour ago. She went to the drawer he indicated, pulling out a pair of forks. She had to pass at his back to put the fork she had gotten for him next to his plate. It was a habit.

She went to the fridge next, pulling on the stainless steel handle to open it up - and found it barren. The jug of orange juice on a middle shelf, next to an expired gallon of milk. Condiments lined the shelves in the door, a carton of eggs and a couple of take out bags. She found the maple syrup, but not the blueberry, taking the orange juice with her too. The butter was missing.

She took a seat at the island, pouring the syrup over the thin stack of pancakes. A fresh one appeared on her plate less than a second later, before being pulled away and substituted with three steaming ones.

"I can eat that." She said with a frown, looking up as Marcus leaned against the counter across from her. He poured more syrup on the pancakes than she had, before shuffling the bottle in her direction.

"I decided yours looked better than mine." He said, nonchalantly. He wiggled his fork down into the pile before sticking it and popping it into his mouth. "Eat."

Nadia reached for the syrup again, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. _Men._

He waited until she had her mouth full of syrup and pancake before springing into his inquisition.

"So...do you want to tell me about those bites?" He said quietly, watching his own plate with feigned interest. She about choked, sucking the pancake down her throat as he caught her off guard. She had hoped he wouldn't have seen those, and she'd assumed he was going to ask her about something else first. He had waited until her guard was down...buttering her up with banter and pancakes.

She swallowed hard, forcing the pancake down and cleared her throat. He passed her a glass, filling it with the orange juice she had set out. She ignored it, instead meeting the golden eyes of the wolf before looking away.

"Bites?" She asked, playing dumb. It probably wasn't the best move, given her reaction to the question.

"On your shoulders." He pressed, tapping the places on his own body where he had presumably seen the marks. The _vampire_ had preferred the shoulder to her neck…, something about resisting the urge to kill her outright if he didn't drink straight from her jugular.

"Oh? Those...aren't bites." She lied, and the look on his face told her that he knew it to be a lie.

"You told me earlier you didn't know much about werewolves." He mused, taking another bite of his stack of pancakes. "Something you should probably know is that wolves can tell when they're being lied to, kitten."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. She hadn't known that. Or maybe he was lying to her?

"Prove it." She said, raising her chin in defiance. He quirked an eyebrow at her. She was sure he had never been questioned on his authority, but she saw a hint of amusement on his lips. He waved a hand at her, as if giving her permission to continue. Two truths and a lie was the obvious choice of game.

She considered him, and what she wanted to say, using her pancakes as a distraction as she thought of her three items.

"I'm from Vermont." She said slowly. "I have a journalism degree and I graduated last May."

"Lie." He replied, picking at his pancakes again. "Not in May."

She hesitated, narrowing her eyes. She hadn't even said her third one yet! She'd actually graduated in the fall, the year before that. She met his eyes, the cool blue back in place of the gold.

"Now," He said, clearly finished with her game. "The bites. Who?"

Nadia frowned at her half eaten pancakes, feeling her stomach turn. She set her fork down, leaning back on the bar stool and away from the countertop. She didn't want to think about the bites, let alone tell a stranger.

"I know that you know about the _bites_." She said slowly, unsure of the boundaries of what she could or could not say. She had to be careful, her words precise. "And I have to be careful, because too much talking could bring the... _mosquitoes_ to me." She glanced at him to make sure he was picking up the gist. "There's a very special... _mosquito_ who made sure I can't talk about the... _mosquitoes._ "

The werewolf's face was grave.

"How long have the...mosquitoes been bothering you?" He asked slowly, his fork stopped in the middle of the air as he paid attention to her.

"A year." She glanced away. "Give or take. I've been...applying bug spray every couple of weeks, and it finally seemed to work about a month ago. I found a good bug zapper, but these mosquitos are nasty." He nodded at her, his face clearly concerned. Nadia had put a stake in the vampire's heart, but the lore had been wrong. A stake didn't kill a vampire. He had been down for a couple of hours, long enough to give her escape, but it didn't keep him down. She wasn't sure why.

"Where's the mosquito problem? Maybe we can call an exterminator?" He prodded, and she shook her head. She couldn't say that. Key details were forbidden. Marcus nodded, seeming to understand. "Okay, what about that reaction upstairs? Was that mosquito related?"

She gave an affirmative nod, and he cursed under his breath.

A/N: Enjoy a two for one special ;) Thanks for the reviews, as always! I'm glad you are enjoying this story as much as I am. -DF


	7. 6: Offense

_Marcus_

It had taken him a moment to understand what she was trying to tell him. A funny analogy, really. _Mosquitoes_ meant vampires, and that was nasty business to be involved in. And a year? Christ. That was a long time to be stuck in a menagerie. He hadn't known people could be kept alive that long, hadn't wanted to really consider the people that the vampires had to use to feed. They were all supposed to be from the underbelly of society; homeless, runaways, addicts...people that still didn't deserve that fate - but were far easier to live with than the alternative.

He searched her face, which was withdrawn and tight, the fear starting to roll off of her in waves. The wolf in him surged, as if he too had made the connection, grating against his nerves like an itch that he couldn't reach.

"How did you get involved with...mosquitoes?" He asked, shifting his posture against the counter. He still held his fork in one hand, but the stack of pancakes had been forgotten for the moment. She took a deep breath and seemed to be steadying herself, shuffling her half eaten plate away. He probably should have waited until she was fed before asking about the bitemarks. The wolf, however, had not been willing to wait.

"I was working a story on drugs. There had been an influx lately, and the city I'm from isn't known for being...well...drug infested." Nadia said, drawing her hands back into her lap. He couldn't see the way she picked at her hands nervously, but he could hear it, a gentle picking sound against the base of the nail. "I was jumped. And when I woke up again, there they were."

He wanted to press for more details, but she was being intentionally vague. No doubt they were looking for her. She had to have been resourceful to escape, even more so to have stayed on the run long enough to find him, but they would want her dead. She was a liability. Humans were unaware that vampires existed, although he failed to see how at least one of them had not figured it out. Shouldn't someone have known that if one nightmare, or two, were true then it was likely that every other monster in the night was too? He set down the fork he'd been holding, pushing away from the countertop until his hands were holding him up against the marble almost as if he were going to do a push-up against the surface.

"I won't lie to you." He said slowly. "They will find you, no matter where you go...especially if you've been theirs for a year." He watched her stiffen, a fresh blast of fear enough for the wolf to send him a flash of irritation. They could protect her. Vampires were tough, but they had won the last fight with bloodsuckers. He wanted to protect her.

 _I don't think you can count that a victory._ He told the wolf, shaking his head.

 _They are dead. We are not._ The wolf countered, rising to the challenge.

Marcus knew it was of no use arguing with the beast. He glanced up, finding that the girl was watching him, those green eyes silently looking for hope. He sighed, straightening up. God, he'd need a stiff drink after this.

"You are under my protection. I'm not going to let the Vam…," He hesitated. " _Mosquitoes._..get you. I swear it to you, as Alpha of Detroit, that none shall harm you while you are within my territory." He let the authority of the decree roll through the room, though there would be none that could feel it. He was essentially a lone wolf, only an Alpha in name. He lead no one, which was a requirement of being an Alpha.

She visibly relaxed, her shoulders loosening for a brief moment before tightening up again. He could hardly blame her. Using one monster to get away from another didn't sound like the greatest of ideas.

"Relax." He murmured. "You're making him anxious." He gave a wave in her general direction, a flash of gold in his eyes indicative of who he was talking about. Nadia straightened in her seat, picking up her abandoned fork and cutting into the pile of half-eaten pancakes. He watched as she swabbed them in syrup, keeping her eyes down, and brought them up to her mouth. A strange satisfaction swept over him, watching her eat the food he had prepared.

Marcus brushed a hand against his head, feeling the reality of what he had agreed to start to sink in. Now he was the one having trouble breathing. He shoved himself off the counter, watching himself walk away from above rather than consciously. His thoughts turned to Bran. Ever since his daughter had declared the sovereignty of a pack's claim, he had cut ties with her at least for appearance's sake. He doubted the Marrok would actually turn from his flesh and blood, adopted or not, but Marcus was neither. He had staked a claim on his territory, and that included a human woman who had put her nose a little too close to the shit. He also didn't have the benefit of a pack to back him up on that claim. Hell. What was he thinking?

 _You can not send her out there for the slaughter_. His wolf said, his presence less reassuring that he had made a smart choice. _She is ours now. Mine._

Oh and when the hell had that happy little revelation come about? He posed back, the muscles in his neck starting to strain as he tried to organize his thoughts. He thought about his contacts, those with stronger ties and resources that he could send her to. Hauptman was an easy choice, he was a visible presence and one of the strongest Alphas in the country...if not the world. What was he again? Fourth...fifth? He couldn't recall.

"Hey...uhm...Devato?" A small voice, drawing his attention. When he turned, he noticed Nadia's recoil and quick drop of the eyes. Doing a mental check, he could tell the muscles in his face must have been twisted into one of those resting bitch faces things. Alana had teased him about that often, a twinge of pain twisting his heart as he shoved the thought away.

He passed a hand over his face, giving the scruff of his jaw a scratch and forced his eyebrows to unclench.

"Yeah?" He said, his voice like gravel. He cleared it, and tried again. "Yeah?" Better. Slightly.

"Look...uh...I don't want to be a bother. I can go, if this is too much for a stranger to ask. I get it, I really do." She said, shifting her posture so that she crossed her arms over her chest.

"No." His voice more firm than he intended. He tried again, feeling flustered and frustrated by the feeling. "No, it's okay. There are just some...things I have to prepare. People to call."

"Your pack?"

Well wasn't that just a kick in the balls. He dropped his eyes to the floor, studying the wood grain.

"No. There is no pack here anymore. Just me." He said gruffly, his tone indicating the end of the conversation. She did not seem to pick up on that hint.

"What? There's no way just you can protect me." She started to protest, unaware that she had just given him an insult. He swallowed against the anger in his throat, feeling his hands curl into fists at his side. His wolf raged within as well, hence the need for concentration. _I can protect her. I. I._ He howled, the thoughts slamming against his brain like a battering ram and splitting him in two.

"If you really believe that, then get out of here." He said sharply, his feet heavy on the floor as he took leave towards his office.


	8. 7

**A/N:** Would you believe me if I told you that this chapter has been in progress since my last update? I really appreciate all of you, so sorry for the wait. I had some plot line struggles to deal with - some changes I needed to make and I think I've gotten all the kinks out of it. I'll try to be more consistent for you all. Also...happy 1 year anniversary to MFF! We haven't gotten too deep into the story, but I'd like to try to make my posting more regular. My new goal is to update a new chapter every 4-6 weeks, although I may be more inspired at some times more than others! Anyway- to try to cut this long ramble short...THANK YOU!

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

She had really stepped in it, as her father liked to say. Her gaze followed his back as he left the kitchen, the sharpness in his tone still ringing in her ears like someone had struck a bell...or a gong. She realized now that what she said had probably hurt his pride, and she felt a twinge of guilt. He was only trying to help her and she had called him weak.

Pushing back from the counter, she took her time in clearing away the plates and putting them in the sink. It took her a couple of minutes to locate the dish soap, and then she filled the sink with hot soapy water. She cleaned things when she was feeling unsettled, and the plates were a perfect distraction.

She wasn't sure how long to let things settle, how long to let the silence fill the void. Her father had always been the type that needed a little time to cool his heels when he was angry, so she guessed that was what she was doing. Or maybe she was thinking about what she had done, like a child waiting for punishment.

Her eyes flickered to a clock that hung just to the left of the doorway, but found that it was stuck - stopped forever in time at 10:53. She wondered briefly if it had stopped in the morning or at night. She wondered whose idea it had been to put a wolf clock up in a werewolf house.

When she finally built up the courage to follow along behind him, she found him in something resembling an office. He was sitting behind a computer that looked older than she was, staring intently at the screen. A glass of amber liquid sat on his left, his hand curled around it while his right hand tapped the arrow keys on the keyboard. She was pretty sure that he knew she was there, even if he didn't acknowledge her.

"Hey." She said, her voice rough. "Look...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you...I just…"

He hadn't looked up, eyes still locked on the screen. She pressed her lips together, before taking a deep breath and starting again.

"You've got to be pretty tough to be an Alpha right? So it's not that I don't think that you aren't strong...but I know these...mosquitoes...they're dangerous."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them before he moved, sitting back against the worn leather of the office chair. His eyes closed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache or something.

"I know what...mosquitoes can do." He said, turning in her direction at last. He wiped a hand over his face as if he were exhausted, giving a roll of his shoulders.

Nadia lingered in the doorway, folding her arms across her chest. She wanted to ask about his lack of pack, but she didn't want to offend him any further. She needed his help, and she wasn't going to get it if she kept offending him with her questions.

"So what now?" Nadia murmured, squeezing her own arm. The werewolf rose from his chair, taking special care to roll it under his desk.

"We prepare." The sound of his voice was a rumble, and he reached forward, plucking something from the desk that she hadn't noticed before. He held it out for her to take, but Nadia paused - inspecting the cross dangling from a delicate chain.

"A cross?" She said with a frown, glancing up at him. He nodded, pulling the collar of the forest green tee shirt that he wore so she could see a cross hanging around his neck as well.

"Religious object." He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It won't keep them away from you, but it's good in a pinch." He offered her the necklace again and she reached slowly for it. He held it up and away from her hand, as if he had changed his mind on giving it to her and she frowned. She wasn't about to ask for it, but then he was moving closer which caused her to take a step back out of the office. He followed, but his posture was more relaxed. He reached out and caught her wrist, and it took all of her concentration not to fight back against the gentle hold. He pressed the cross into her hand, the chain warm where his palm had been.

"If you need it." He murmured, his voice lower than before. She had to strain to listen over the sound of her heart fluttering like a frightened little bird. "You just have to touch them with it. It'll glow, and it'll burn them. Like a bug zapper. It does help though...if you actually believe in God."

He let her go after he made sure that her fingers had wrapped around the cross, but did not step away from her - instead keeping the space between them at a minimum. She couldn't remember ever being particularly religious, although she had a new appreciation for the faith after everything she had seen over the last year. How many times had she prayed to things unseen? Promised to get her act together and get back to church if someone would help her. She wondered if God expected her to uphold that promise if she had gotten herself out. There had been no divine intervention, no rescue...

She glanced up, his eyes completely normal for the first time since she had met him this morning - not an fleck of gold to be seen. He was so close that she was able to get a good look at him, his face unconventionally handsome and a ragged scar that swept along the lines of his face.

"I thought werewolves didn't have scars." She murmured aloud, before her mind could catch up with her mouth. She watched his lips press into a firm line, before softening.

"It depends." He replied, pulling back with a shrug. "I've been told this will disappear when I get a few centuries on me. Sometimes the uglier scars take longer to heal than others."

"Centuries?" She asked, unable to help the curious tone in her voice. She was a reporter, it was in her nature to ask questions.

"If I'm lucky." His voice was back to normal, smooth like a roll of summer thunder. "Or unlucky."

The werewolf drew himself up, as she pulled her hand with the gold cross in against her chest. She glanced down to inspect it at a much closer vantage point, finding it to be very plain in design. She supposed it suited him though, not to have anything too fancy or ornate. Within a matter of moments she undid the clasp and refastened it beneath her hair, tucking it away out of sight under her shirt.

"You'll need some clothes, right? I saw that bag that you had...didn't look like much." Marcus said suddenly, changing the subject. She absently brushed a hand through her hair as she considered his words. She didn't have any money for new clothes, and she didn't really want to be any more of a charity case as it were.

"No." She said, and she watched as his eyes narrowed at her. Right...hadn't he said something about werewolves and lies? It was only a half lie, because she did have some clothes so she didn't exactly need new ones.

"Ok." He said slowly, and she was surprised that he didn't want to argue about it. "I need to go out to get a few things if I'm going to...have a bug problem." She watched his back as he turned around and began rummaging through the large wooden desk, before scrounging up a pair of keys from somewhere. He jingled them, as though it were a habit of his. "Things have been kind of sparse here for a while. Will you help me?"

Somehow she could tell it was an order, disguised as a request. She merely nodded, not wanting to offend him anymore than she already had - plus, having something to help with would make her feel like less of a burden.


	9. 8

**A/N:** Surprise! In lieu of participating in NANOWRIMO, I've decided to issue my own personal challenge of writing for MFF and updating at least once a week if not more! My hope is to post on Sundays from now until the end of the month! Enjoy!

 **oOoOoOo**

There was something about the fact that she had put on the necklace that he had offered her that pleased him, though he could not exactly pinpoint why. It was not as if the simple gold cross had any depth of meaning to him, something of a standard issue - yet he was proud of it as though he had given her one of his dog tags to hold on to. Maybe because it was the first thing she had accepted from him without a fuss.

She must have been feeling poor about calling him a weakling back in the kitchen, he thought. Some part of him knew that she had not meant it the way that it had sounded, but sometimes old wolves did not quite understand things the way that humans did. Marcus moved back to his computer as something occurred to him, leaning over the old dinosaur to rattle out a line in the email he had been finishing up when she had come in after him. He picked up his forgotten glass of whiskey and downed the rest, and snapped one final key on the keyboard to send his message.

Adam Hauptman from the Columbia Basin Pack would have a better idea of how to deal with powerful vampires, and Bran wasn't answering his calls. Marcus had some experience, he thought regretfully, but with that little display up in the bathroom - he had a feeling he was dealing with something much older and more powerful than what met the eye. He might be wrong, but he'd rather play it safe than sorry. At the moment, he had the high ground and the advantage - but it would be out the window if he didn't act on the information he already had. Adam's wife, Mercedes, had running contacts with their local vampire seethe which could also be useful, though he doubted the vampires would run around giving up others of their kind.

The glass found its way back down on the water-ring marked desk, and he pressed one final button to put the old computer back to sleep. He was not about to shut it down again, concerned that it might not make it back up again. Marley was not here to get it back up and running if it should fail. The thought of his pack-mates always bristled up the old wolf, so he left it alone.

Straightening his back, he looked at Nadia again for the first time in several minutes. She had one eyebrow raised, as if waiting for him to answer her about something. Shit, had he been so focused on his thoughts that he had missed something?

"Sorry, what did you say?" He asked, attempting something of a smile - but he knew in the way that her body language changed, becoming more defensive, that it hadn't succeeded. He let the expression fall away, jangling the keys again in agitation.

"I said...I'll drive." She said pointedly, no doubt at the glass of whisky he had downed.

"That's fine." He agreed smoothly, "But we will take my car - it can carry more, I'm sure."

He had to give the girl credit, she had no fear of driving his military grade SUV, and she drove well...if a little overcautiously. It was a trait that he found he did not mind, because he could appreciate the way her gaze kept sweeping over the wet roads looking for anything that would bring up the need for corrective action. He leaned back in his seat, and was not one for idle chatter but offered direction at certain intervals because it was clear that she wasn't a native to Detroit.

He could tell by the way she gripped the steering wheel that she was a little less comfortable with silence. Nudged by something he couldn't quite explain, he spoke.

"Vermont, huh?" He asked, recalling the bare bones facts that he knew about her.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, before turning her eyes back to the road.

"Yeah." She murmured, the word a little slower than he expected. "One of those states that people don't really think about."

"You grew up there?"

"Born and raised."

The wolf tilted his head, something about her words not quite right now that he was listening more intently. Something about them tasted strange, but he was not sure why.

"Tell me about it." He insisted, unhappy with the curtness of her answers. She shrugged her shoulders, shifting slightly in her seat as though she were in some interrogation hot seat.

"Not much to tell, just that it's small." She insisted.

"What about your family? Have you called them?"

This question gave her a longer pause, and she frowned as she considered his question. Her face was quite expressive, even from this angle across the vehicle he could see it. Something tingled in the back of his head, that uneasy feeling beginning to grow - something he tucked away to check in to later. She shook her head, and tightened her hands until they were white around the steering wheel. The wolf growled in his head.

Her scent was fluctuating rapidly, her heart rate steadily rising despite the fact that she appeared so calm on the outside. Her eyes were widening, the death grip she had on the wheel enough that he could hear her hands cracking joints from the sheer force.

"Pull over." He said, careful to keep his voice calm and even. He reached slowly across the car towards her hand, covering it in her own. "Hey, listen to me now." He said, pulling on his authority as alpha - because even though she was human, it tended to work. Alphas weren't alphas just because of their wolves. Something in their personalities pre-wolf always set them apart, just like omegas or submissives. His mother used to say he could charm a snake, and he hoped that something to that effect would work on her.

Her hand was icy cold as he curled his hand around it, to keep the car nice and steady. She had let off of the gas, and looked at him - and he just kept talking. He talked nice and easy until she let his hand guide them to the shoulder of the road - feeling it rather than seeing it, and the car had slowed enough for him to put it in park without her needing to step on the break. His mechanic would thank him later.

A chorus of honking had erupted around them, and he glanced away for a brief moment to make sure that his little stunt hadn't caused any accidents - but it appeared to be just a mob of angry motorists.

"Nadia?" He murmured, going slow with his free hand to touch her face. She had the look of a scared rabbit, those green eyes wide as if waiting for him to make everything alright again. Two rescues in one day? How had she gotten on this long without help? The wolf tried to grapple for control, wanting to physically overpower the invisible force that was hurting his Nadia. He smoothed his thumb across her cheek, catching a wisp of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. "You're right here. With me. I'm pretty ugly to look at but, you're here. Don't need to be scared, I promise. I've got you."

It took several minutes for her to come back down, and only when her heart rate seemed normal did he let go of her hand.

"That was different from before." He said softly, surprised by how quiet she was. He could tell by the look on her face that she was confused too, staring down hard into her lap.

Things were getting interesting, to say the least.


End file.
